WHAT M. EUGENE GUINOT SAW AT LONDON. [From the Literary Gazette.]

New Zealand Spectator and Cook's Strait Guardian, Volume VI, Issue 469, 30 January 1850, Page 4

WHAT M. EUGENE GUINOT SAW AT LONDON. [From the Literary Gazette.]

Eugene Guinot is one of the most popular feuilletonistes of the Paris press, and his name is well known as the author of the 22evue de Paris which figures every week in the 1 S&cle, and in which the sayings and doings of the beau monde are recorded sometimes with wit, always with smartness, and invariably with supreme contempt of truth and probability. This good M. Guinot has just paid a week s visit to London, having come over in one of the batches of curious sent by the "Office Geseral Jes Chemins de Fer," for £8 sterling ; and he has favoured the S&cle with his observations on the city of smoke and its people. As the English like to know what foreigners say about them, a few brief extracts from these feuilletons will, perhaps, not be read without interest. Of London in general Guinot says — " What first strikes the mind and astonishes the eye of the foreigner arriving in London is the extent of the city, the noise, the movement, the crowd, which agitate tbat immensity. In no other capital can be found such grandeur and such tumult. In all directions open, large, and long perspectives, animated by the multitude — rivers without end, which roll along tumultuously — floods of pedestrians and vehicles. In the populous quarters of London one can only walk by forcing a passage with the fists and elbows. It is a perpetual struggle ; one must constantly be on the offensive and defensive. Once on one side of the street, it is impossible to pass to the other. The smallest man, the lightest sylph, could not succeed in crossing the street full of carriages, encumbered with horses, and with thousands of wheels, which roll locked one in another. English coachmen alone have the talent of getting out of this chaos of carts, cabs, waggons, and omnibusses — of the tempest which roars incessantly from morning till night." The docks excite the feuilletoniste's wonder and admiration ; but he sneers at the marvels of the Tower, doubts the authenticity of the blocks and axes which are said to have figured in notable executions; is firmly convinced that all the jewels of the crown are paste, and is shocked at the queer costume of the huissiers — beefeaters he means — who, he says, wear caps of the time of Queen Elizabeth, coats of the time of Charles 1., and trousers of the year of grace '49. He then declares that St Paul's is a poor imitation of St. Peter's at Rome, and the Stock-exchange of the Bourse at Paris ; after which he proceeds as follows — " The English are accustomed to place a statue before their monuments as an advanced

sentinel, without seeking to establish any relation between the personage and the edifice. Before St. Paul's there is a statue of Queen Anne: before the Stock-exchange the statue of Field Marshal Lord Wellington, covered with a little cloak, like those which Parisian postmen wear in winter. " You will often meet in the town statues of Lord Wellington, and you will often see the name of Waterloo inscribed at the corners of streets. Not having the embarras dv choix, the English are obliged to repeat themselves. They serve up Wellington in all kinds of sauce. He is their hero of every day, and their hero of Sundays. They multiply his likeness with inexhaustible profusion, representing the great man in all forms, in all postures, and in all costumes, on foot, on horseback, cfc V antique, hla modern; as Caesar, as the Great Frederick, as Napoleon, as Franconi, sometimes clothed in uniform, in a great coat, in a cloak, in a waterproof, ip a <coat with a stiff collar. He must certainly %c somewhere represented with an umbrella in his hand. Under all these disguises it is always the same man, with his heroic Punchlike face. *• The name of Waterloo is not less prodigally employed than the face of the most illustrious General. Streets, places, alleys, passages, squares, decorate themselves with insolent pride with the name of the memorable battle. The English, howevpr, forget that they had only a share in that affair, and yet they swagger as if it belonged to them alone. Wellington and Waterloo are the glory of the earth, aud the glory of the sea are Nelson and Trafalgar. A column of -stone, high as the column of the Place Vendome, rises in the middle of Trafalgar-square, and on that column Admiral Nelson is stuck, in the attitude of a bully, with his nose in the air, and his hat cocked aside. Nelson on his column has two kings of England for satellites ; a king before, a king behind ; Charles I. preceding him as an outrider, George IV. following him as a groom. The two monarchs, also, are uncovered, whilst Nelson has his hat on. Assuredly Nelson deserved the honoufs of Trafalgar-square, but what was the use of giving him that cortege, and placing there two Royal statues which look so piteously ?" The Financial Reform Association of Liverpool does not speak so disrespectfully of the Guards as our feuilletoniste : — "In going to Westminster, the curious stop at the Horse Guard Barracks, situated at Whitehall, at the entrance of St. James'spark. The soldiers of the corps d' elite are of an elegance which is seen nowhere else than irt the English army, and at the Opera Comique. There is nothing martial in their uniform, but it is so elegant and coquettish as to produce the best effect. Every one of these soldiers has the air of a walking gentleman of the stage, rather than of a real Dragoon really mounting guard. Our readers cannot picture to themselves simple soldiers so well dressed, combed, brushed, oiled, pomatumed, blackinged, and varnished, their hands and nails are attended to as carefully as those of the most perfect gentleman; their hair is curled with art, and any trooper whose hair is not properly arranged, or nicely parted, is sent to the black-hole. On that point discipline is inexorable. These soldier dandies receive pay proportioned to their elegance. Means are afforded them of passing a comfortable existence. They are copiously fed, and take tea three times a-day. Their uniform is splendid ; the lowest grade serves as a pretext for ornaments ; corporals are covered with embroidery, and lieutenants wear two large epaulettes." The writer then minutely describes how grades are purchased in the English army, how they are quoted on the Stock-exchange, how they are sometimes cheap and sometimes dear, and how clever men contrive to make money and gain military rank by selling out when the price is high, and buying in when low. Eating at London is thus described — " Foreigners are obliged to take their dinners in the taverns, for there are neither restaurants nor cafe's, as at Paris, but only taverns very simply decorated, where the principal and often only food, to be found is slices of underdone beef. In the fashionable taverns, where you ask for a beefsteak, they bring you five plates, e*ach covered with a silver cover. * What is that?' you ask ; and they answer, ,'lt is your beefsteak.' You then find in one plate a slice of beef, in the second boiled potatoes, in the third peas, in the fourth lettuces, and in the fifth melted butter, without counting a multitude of phials containing vinegar and spices of all colours. As a variety you are sometimes offered boiled salmon and puddings, and for dessert you have gooseberry tarts, and an enormous Cheshire cheese, into which every one by turns digs his knife or his nails. For drink there are ale and porter. You must be a millionare to drink wine in England. People who have

only £1000 a year are forced to stick to the national beers." Guinot, in describing Her Majesty's Theatre, says, that its yellow and green decorations give it the appearance of an "omelette aux fines herbes;" and he complains that the fronts of the boxes are so high that " only the coiffure and sometimes part of the fore- 1 heads of the ladies can be seen above them." He declares the English know nothing of music ; "at bottom they 9 are only barbarians," notwithstanding all their musical pretensions. His description of a public dinner is as follows : — " Nothing is more curious than one of these repasts, which recal to mind the feasting described by Homer. Enormous pieces of beef, whole sheep, monstrous fishes, load an immense table bristling with bottles. The guests clothed in black, calm and serious, seat themselves in silence, and with the air which one takes at a funeral. Behind the president is placed a functionary called the toastmaster. It is he who is charged to make the speeches. The president whispers to him the mot d'ordre, and, ' Gentlemen,' says he, with the voice of a S ten tor, 'I am about to propose to you a toast which cannot fail to be received by you with great favour — it is thehealth of the very honourable, very respectable, and very considerable, Sir Robert Pee], &c.' The guests then, shaking off their silent apathy, rise all at once, as if they weremoved by springs, and respond to the invitation by thundeting forth frantic cries. Whilst the glasses are being emptied, three younggirls, with bare shoulders, slip from behind a screen, and play a tune on the piano. Thetoasts do not cease until the guests, having* strength neither to rise nor to remain seated,, roll under the table." The rigid, observance of Sunday .is bewailed by the feuilletoniste in true French style.. " This solemn day," he says, " belongs exclusively to religious practices and meditations* Not only is business suspended, but pleasures are interdicted. Repose would not be complete if ennui did not give its seasoning for the greater glory of Heaven." No newspapers, he declares, are published on the Sunday ; but the prudent Cockney, he says, only reads one half of his newspaper on Saturday, so as to have the remainder to read on the Sabbath. He states that, as all the shopsand taverns are shut up, people must starve if they do not take the precaution of lying in a stock of provisions overnight. He notices the advertisements of sermons to be preached at particular churches, and adds, that popular pulpit orators preach the same sermon in different churches, as actors perform the same character in different theatres :—": — " The Rev. Wilkinson will, for the fourth time next Sunday, in the Church of St. George, preach hissermon on Christian charity, which has produced such great effect on the faithful," is, he says, "a frequent advertisement in the London journals." In the course of his observations on the dulness of Sunday he communicates some valuable information on theparks. " Picture to yourself a vast campagne, with woods, lakes, canals, and fields, in which flocks of oxen and sheep browse ; you would * believe yourself in a beautiful district of Devonshire or Northumberland, and yet you are at London, in St. James's-park, Hyde-park, Regents-park. The most brilliant residences of the aristocracy border these country places. The parks form part of the domain of the Crown, and bring in a revenue of £20,000 sterling, from the land, the flocks, and the rent which the municipality pays to secure the enjoyment of these delicious promenades to the public. It is an appanage which now belongs to the Duke of Cambridge, uncle to the Queen. And yet, on Sundays there are neither pedestrians, nor horsemen, nor carriages, in these magnificent parks — they are completely deserted !" " If," says the writer sadly, in concluding his lament over the mournfulness and gloom of London on the Sunday. "If you would wish to know ennui in all its magnificence, pass a Sunday at London ; you will then understand the spleen, and will feel surprised that last year there were only 3500 suicides in that city, for assuredly the 52 Sundays of the year deserved more than that. " ' The description, however, of another feuilletoniste, Gauthier, we think, was briefer and more pithy :—": — " To pass the day all alooe without a light at the bottom of the well of the Great Pyramid is preferable to a Sunday at London."